


the last five years

by jehancourf



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character(s) of Color, Established Relationship, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Temporary Amnesia, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:59:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9982007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehancourf/pseuds/jehancourf
Summary: "You've been together four years.” Combeferre tells him in a soft voice, and Enjolras’ head spins. “You just missed him.”Enjolras, devastated, hears himself mumble: “What’s he like?” Because he certainly can’t find the words. Four years is such a long time to be with someone.He probably loves him.(or, an amnesia au where nobody sucks.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> you know when you sort of roll up your sleeves and decide that if the content wont be created, then you'll do it yourself? well heres an amnesia au where nobody's a fucking asshole and everyone practices healthy communication skills
> 
> content warnings etc in the end notes but for this chap in particular: discussion of consent + age difference, hospitals, and of course memory loss

When Enjolras wakes up, the first thing he notices is that his tits are gone. 

Which is like, hell yeah, but he doesn’t really have context, so a little unnerving, considering the last thing he recalls are a couple of genuine 36Cs gracing his chest with their presence. And he’s not binding, otherwise his back would hurt and his chest would feel too tight and, anyway, he never, ever goes to bed with his binder on. 

His back doesn’t hurt, but his head certainly does, for whatever reason.

Enjolras opens his eyes.

He is immediately greeted with a rush of white, and then the second thing he notices: He’s in a hospital bed. He’s never been in a hospital bed before, but he’s seen them a couple times and he’s definitely seen them on tv, and the nurse’s office at his high school was hospital-y enough. And, Enjolras is also not an idiot. He’s in a hospital bed. He rationalizes that, yeah, now the flat chest makes sense, but it’s still weird. He doesn’t remember coming out to his parents, and he doesn’t remember getting ready for top surgery, and he doesn’t even remember going into the hospital. In fact, most of his recent memories since graduation are pretty fuzzy. Maybe it’s a side effect of the anesthesia?

The stark white of the walls and the cabinets and the counter and the floor are so shocking that it takes him a few moments to adjust, but when he does, the third thing he notices is that he is not alone. A doctor who looks like his best friend is at the counter, with his back to him.

“Um-” Enjolras tries to speak to get the doctor’s attention, but it doesn’t feel great because his mouth is impossibly dry, and the second he opens it to protest, his body decides that he is officially awake and thus every part of him hurts at once. So, instead of a greeting, he stops at ‘um’ and continues only to groan.

A plastic cup of water is thrust upon him and he chugs it without question. It helps, but his body still hurts, and the object in his hand alerts him that he is connected to an IV. Not awesome.

“Well, good morning to you, too, my friend.” says Combeferre’s voice from the doctor beside him. “Glad you’re finally up. You gave us quite a scare, there.”

Enjolras is even more confused, forcing his thirst to calm down as he shakily places the cup on the little table beside his bed. It is immediately refilled, but this time, Enjolras holds off, choosing instead to examine his doctor. Upon inspection, he decides that it’s definitely Combeferre, unless he has an identical older brother that Enjolras has never met, but he really does look older. It’s not a bad look, but he doesn’t understand. He was just at Ferre’s house, he thinks, maybe. He’s seen him very recently, at least, and last Enjolras remembers, he didn’t have a short, refined beard, or such stylish glasses and he definitely, certainly, absolutely was not a doctor. They graduated high school the other day. Last month. This year, sometime. Forget it.

“What’s going on?” Enjolras asks, because Combeferre seems unbothered, and is pleasantly surprised amidst this crisis that his voice is quite deep.

“You got into a little accident. Hit by a car on your way home.” Combeferre says, like he’s excited about it. “We weren’t too sure you would make it, to be honest, you hit your head so hard. I’m so glad you’re okay, Val, seriously.”

“Oh, um, about that-”

Combeferre grabs his clipboard, but Enjolras is pretty sure he sees a sparkle of a tear behind his glasses. “Of course, right, doctor stuff. Are you in pain?”

“No- well, yes, everywhere, but that’s not what I was gonna say.” Enjolras finds himself struggling a little to form sentences. He takes a few deep breaths. “My head- I’m confused.”

Combeferre smiles, placing his free hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. “That’s okay, my friend. You hit your head, things are probably gonna be confusing for a while. Can I ask you some questions?” Enjolras nods. “Great! Can you tell me your name?”

Enjolras frowns. “It’s Enjolras.”

“Your full name?”

“Valentine Enjolras. But I just like Enjolras, because Valentine is sort of embarrassing. You call me Val, though.”

Combeferre grins and writes something on his clipboard. “Hey, nice. You’re doing good. You knew that right away?”

“Yeah, uh…”

“I know this seems pretty menial right now, but we’re gonna get to one where our answers are different eventually. Bear with me.” Combeferre says seriously, and Enjolras nods again.

“Okay, I’m sorry. Go on.”

“Can you tell me what year it is, Enjolras?”

Enjolras does have to think about this one a little bit, because as far as he knows, it’s 2012, the year he just graduated, but the season is foggy, and his brain keeps blurring pictures and faces and dates that are foreign to him. Applying logic, he decides that it’s probably not 2012 anymore, but that’s what he remembers, so that’s what he says.

“2012?”

Combeferre makes his face unreadable, like he’s at the funeral of a distant relative. It’s unsettling, and creates an equally unsettling silence. He carefully writes something else on his clipboard, probably trying to find the right words.

“Well.” He finally says. “That explains the confusion. Do you know the date?” Enjolras shakes his head. “Okay, well, let me start off by saying that this is completely normal, your brain took a bit of a beating, so your memories aren’t it’s number one priority. You’ll probably get them back in pieces over the next few weeks, maybe even sooner. Unfortunately, there’s no real way to know, but the vast majority of patients in your situation get them back.”

Combeferre isn’t comforting, just the opposite. Enjolras wonders how much his injury took from him, and how much has happened since graduation. “Ferre, what year is it really?” 

Combeferre pushes up his glasses. “It’s 2017, my friend.”

Enjolras sucks in a breath, head spinning. That can’t be right. It’s been five years! Enjolras is 23 years old, he’s an adult, he’s probably gone through college- he’d have a Bachelor’s degree, oh God, what if he doesn’t? What if he hasn’t gotten anything done that he wanted to? He had such big plans, oh no, oh God-

“Hey, Val, it’s okay, you’re okay, I know it’s scary.” Enjolras looks up at Combeferre, to find him smiling down at him. He’s a doctor, now. Combeferre is a doctor. “We’re all here to support you. You can ask me anything you want to know right now, but you have friends who will answer to the best of their abilities, too.”

Enjolras breathes. “Really?” Combeferre nods.

“Yes, really. You’re Mr. Popularity nowadays.” Enjolras swallows.

“People like me.” He croaks, and although it’s relatively new information, he speaks it like a mantra between deep breaths to calm himself down. “People care about me.”

“That they do. You’ll get to meet them later.” Combeferre rubs his shoulder. “But for now, ask me anything.”

Enjolras thinks about it. There’s so much that could happen in five years, so many things he wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know where to start.

“Am I out of college?” He decides. College as a whole is pretty foreign to him, having only visited the lovely university in the city that they both chose. It occurs to him that Combeferre may be the only friend, of the several apparently, that he remembers.

“No you are not. You decided to go to law school after all, and that’s where you are right now. Might I say, too, that you’re an excellent student.” Combeferre is smiling real wide, as if to prove his point.

“Oh.” Enjolras has been against law and the idea of law school as long as he can remember, but if he gives his future self a little thought, he supposes he can see the appeal. With a law degree, he can further help those in need, and that’s all he’s really interested in. “Do I enjoy it?”

Combeferre laughs. “Not particularly. It frustrates you, and you’re usually pretty stressed. You keep telling us it’s worth it.”

“That makes sense.” Enjolras says, understanding the joke. “What else am I doing?”

“You’ll be happy to hear, I’m sure.” Combeferre shines with pride, and Enjolras finds himself bashful about feats he doesn’t even know. “You’re the founder and four-ish year president of a fairly influential Minority Voice Committee on campus, and you’ve changed a couple student handbook rules, held talks and panels and shows, and made several frat boys and faculty members cry.” He smirks. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself in five years, my friend.”

Enjolras is overcome with emotion. He’s made such a difference. What an incredible relief.

“That’s actually how you know so many people.” Combeferre continues, probably a reaction to Enjolras’ dopey smile. “Your closest friends are either official members of your group or friends with everyone in it. They respect you as a leader and adore you as a friend.”

“Shut up.” Enjolras says, doing his best to cover his face with his hands. “I love them so much, already. They’re perfect.”

Combeferre laughs. “You say that all the time. Wait until you meet your boyfriend.”

Enjolras drops his hands. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of a boyfriend. An adult boyfriend. Because they’re both adults. “Oh.” Whatever piece of skin that hadn’t already flushed pink has, and he hears the beep beep beep on the table beside him increase its pace. “My boyfriend.”

“Of four years.” Combeferre tells him in a soft voice, and Enjolras’ head spins. “You just missed him.”

Enjolras, devastated, hears himself mumble: “What’s he like?” Because he certainly can’t find the words. Four years is such a long time to be with someone. 

He probably loves him. 

“He’s your type.” Combeferre laughs. “But you don’t know that yet. He’s a big guy, if you want to know what he looks like. He’s as tall as I am, but a lot heavier, with kind of long hair. You’ve both been growing it out.” Enjolras hadn’t noticed. In 2012, his hair was past his shoulders. Now, he lifts his hand to touch and it’s just past his chin. “His beard is longer than mine, but tidy. He has tattoos. He’s black. You used to tell me before you started dating that you like his big hands.”

“But what is he like, Ferre?” Enjolras asks, dying to know. “What are his hobbies? What does he do for work? Does he treat me right? Are we happy?”

“He’s a goofball.” Combeferre recites, because he’s perfect. “He loves to joke, about pretty much anything. It can be annoying, but he’s very funny. Courf- that’s your other best friend, you love him, don’t worry-”

“I know Courf!” Enjolras exclaims. “He’s my roommate- er, he was. He was really charming, when I met him at open house, and we texted all the time after that. I really look… ed forward to living with him.” Enjolras smiles, because Courfeyrac is a new friend. Blurry, but familiar. “He was funny, but he talked about bringing a lot of girls home.”

Combeferre barks a laugh. “Well you won’t have to worry about that. He’s married, now!”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah, you’re not alone in confusion on this one.” Combeferre looks about ready to say something rude. Enjolras widens his eyes, nervous he brought up a sore subject. “They haven’t been together very long. It’s sort of a… thing.”

“Oh?” 

“Yes. But it’s none of our business. Besides,” Combeferre says. “We like her. It’s just not at all like him. Anyway, your boyfriend of four years.”

“Right!” Enjolras smiles, letting the topic drop. “He’s very funny, like Courfeyrac?”

“Yes. He’s funny, and talented. He’s an illustrator by trade, but pretty much anything he picks up, he can do. Interpretative dance, football, oil painting, boxing, and he knows a ton about random subjects, too. He says it’s because of insomnia and Wikipedia, but I think he’s just a smart guy.”

“Geez. Is he real?” Enjolras must look like an excited puppy, hanging on every word, but he doesn’t care. He can’t believe his life has turned out so great. Granted, Combeferre is probably only telling him the good stuff, but it’s so much good at once that Enjolras can’t help but to be emotional about it. Combeferre chuckles.

“Well, you’ll meet him today. He’s been here for about three days straight, at your bedside mostly. We’ve been trying to convince him to go home and shower, and he finally did last night with the rationale that if you were to wake up, you would scold him for, and I quote “smelling like cheese.’”

Enjolras giggles, but stops himself short. Three whole days. 

“His name is Grantaire, by the way. Everyone calls him R-”

“That’s funny. The pun.”

Combeferre grins, looking at him again with pride. “That’s what you said the first time, too.” He takes his clipboard from the table, looking over it again before scribbling something else down. “I ought to get going. My shift is almost over, and I’m not supposed to stay overtime, because I’m not a real doctor yet. This is an internship.” Enjolras nods, glad to have that cleared up. “You’ve got some injuries that will hurt for a while, but nothing too scary, just some bruising and a sprained ankle. The head injury is the worst of it, unfortunately, but you should be able to go home later tonight or tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Enjolras says, hoping he can remember everything. “Are any of my friends here?”

“Not right now, it’s actually pretty early in the morning. The second they hear you’re awake, though, they’ll probably trample a few nurses to get to you.” He places his hand on Enjolras’ shoulder again. “Should we let them in?”

Enjolras thinks for a moment. “I think so.” He says. “Maybe write down their names and have them show ID when they get here?”

Combeferre smiles. “Don’t worry, Val. They’ve all been here at least three times. The nurses will know.” Enjolras bites his lip, watching Combeferre go over his clipboard one last time, then look back at him. Faintly, he hears a bell from the hallway. “Well, that’s a cue if anything. Go back to sleep if you like, but you’ll have nurses in after I turn this in-” He waves the clipboard. “-to get you whatever you might need and clean your bedpan, etcetera.”

Enjolras nods, trying hard not to think about it, but he can’t help it. His head is swimming, everything he thought he'd known set in question. He knows nothing except that he is loved and he’s doing great and he’s on the path to a fantastic career. It’s too good to be true, and he knows deep down that while Combeferre is probably telling the truth, he’s definitely blowing up the good parts as best he can. Where has Enjolras failed? What more will he learn? His head is so full of questions that it hurts to focus on any one, but one shines out of the blur anyway, as Combeferre opens the door to leave. How close had he come to ending all that good? How bad was he hit and-

“How long have I been in here, Ferre?”

Combeferre turns around, almost dramatically slow, and blinks at him. Enjolras briefly wonders how dreadful it would be if he narrowly escapes a car crash death only to die in anticipation. 

“Almost two weeks, my friend.” Combeferre finally tells him, and Enjolras’ heart seizes. “Like I said, you really gave us quite a scare.”

There is a pregnant pause, and Enjolras has so much left to say, so much left to ask, even just to apologize for, but suddenly he is very tired and very quiet and his best friend, the almost-doctor, nods at him once more and steps out, shutting the door behind him and leaving Enjolras to his thoughts.

Well. At least his tits are gone.

\---

Enjolras is positive that he won’t get any shuteye after such an intake of information, but of course, quite the opposite. He has a very uncomfortable interaction with two pleasant nurses and then immediately drifts off to sleep. 

He isn’t sure how long it lasts, but he wakes up, hazily, to a knock at the door.

“Mr. Enjolras?” Not Combeferre. “Your boyfriend is here to see you.”

Enjolras’ heart leaps. He presses his face into the itchy hospital blanket, turning bright red at the very notion. His boyfriend. His very cool and talented and apparently handsome boyfriend of four years. 

Enjolras is suddenly ridiculously aware of how long it’s been since he’s showered.

“Um!” He exclaims, sitting up to look around for something that might make him smell better. There’s nothing, not even a can of Febreeze. Oh God. “Yes, sure! I haven’t showered in like two weeks though, so um, prepare for that?” Enjolras is an idiot, holy shit. He lays back down, taking his last available second to smooth his hair.

The door opens pretty quickly, and there he is, wide-eyed and smiley and exactly as handsome as Combeferre described. His skin is the color of rich garden soil and his hair is made up of tight black curls tied up in a messy bun on top of his head. His face is covered in scars and freckles and pockmarks and he does have a beard, but he must have just trimmed it, because it’s angular and neat. It’s the only hard edge on him, the rest of him is soft and round, all muscle and fat. He’s carrying probably half his body weight in plastic shopping bags, which is saying something, because he’s just so big.

Enjolras is gaping.

Grantaire drops his bags onto the chair in the corner of the room unceremoniously and rushes to his side. “Good morning, pumpkin!” His smile spans his entire face, and Enjolras can’t help but smile with him. “You really are awake! Holy shit, I’m so glad I took a shower, Val, I was seriously gross. Your first waking words would have been ‘I hate you, you smelly loser.’”

Enjolras giggles and gestures to himself. “I mean…” 

Grantaire points one finger at the sky. “Never fear! My paycheck is here!” And before Enjolras can say another word, Grantaire is rummaging through his shopping bags, unearthing a plethora of snacks, drinks, and yes, essentials. He offers him a stick of deodorant and a spritzer of cologne, gesturing with his other hand to the snacks. “Now you can smell like a fancy rich boy on my boss’s dollar, and I offer a selection of your faves.”

Enjolras blinks at him and sits up, taking the gifts with two hands. His arm tugs the IV and he winces, focusing instead on the brush of Grantaire’s fingers. “Thank you.” He says quietly, willing his brain to retain any of what Grantaire has told him. 

He looks back up at him, applying the deodorant, to find Grantaire still smiling at him.

“Combeferre told us.” He says, before Enjolras can speak. “I was hoping you’d see me and remember, but it’s okay. I’m here to be your constant reminder all the time.” He offers his hand, and Enjolras doesn’t hesitate to take it. “All the time. So much that you’ll get annoyed with me and hang out with someone else.”

Enjolras is taken aback by his honesty, but he figures it’s probably how Grantaire always is. He feels Grantaire’s thumb stroking his hand and looks up at him to find dark brown eyes staring back at him. “I don’t think I can.” He replies honestly. “I don’t really know anyone else but Combeferre, and apparently he’s busy being successful.” 

“Don’t say it like that, you are too.” Grantaire scolds, notably defensive. “Don’t tell me he didn’t tell you about all your great accomplishments.” Enjolras smiles at the sentiment, then shrugs.

“He did, briefly. I figured he was humoring me. Brain injury and all.” Grantaire snorts.

“Nah. That’s a fair guess, but you’re fucking awesome.” He grins, freeing his hand to grab a Crystal Pepsi (Which is apparently a thing in 2017? Who authorized this decision? Where was Enjolras?) and a small bag of gummy worms from one of the shopping bags now littering the room. He hands Enjolras the gummy worms, scoots the chair over to his bedside, sits down, makes himself comfortable for a few moments, and finally takes Enjolras’ hand back. Enjolras watches the whole ordeal in amusement, holding onto his bag. “Although I suppose I have a bias.”

“I suppose you do.” Enjolras agrees, and because he can’t help himself, adds: “But for all I know, you think I suck.” 

Grantaire laughs at that, loud and infectious, and Enjolras doesn’t mind the noise. He’s glad he’s dating such a happy man. “Yeah, right. I’m your biggest fan.”

Enjolras blushes. This sort of attention is supposedly something future Enjolras is used to, but it’s definitely not something that he’s experienced before. In fact, he’s not very experienced in any type of romantic interaction, or sexual one. Last he knew, he was 18, not even moved into college yet, and far more focused on academics than interpersonal relationships. Even now, looking his attractive, talented, smart, boyfriend in the eye, Enjolras is a little confused as to how he handles a long term relationship.

And whether Grantaire expects anything from him, now.

“Um.” Enjolras says, trying to frame his thoughts into words, because he ought not to keep them to himself. “I want to ask something.”

“Anything.”

Enjolras avoids his eye, nervous, but he’s determined to voice his concerns. “Do I-Do we have to um… Do we have to have sex?”

“Christ, Val.” Grantaire says, offended. “Of course not. I’m a total stranger to you, and you’re like, a virgin. I wasn’t even going to kiss you like full on the mouth.”

“Oh.” Enjolras sighs. “Really?”

“Really. We’re at totally different points in our lives right now. It would be really gross if 18 year old Enjolras was dating 28 year old Grantaire.”

“Oh.” Enjolras says again, mortified. He’s sure his face is bright red, and he can’t help but hide it against Grantaire’s hand, doing his best not to look at his fucking 28-year-old boyfriend. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Hey, now.” Enjolras feels Grantaire run his free hand through his hair, something he finds incredibly comforting but also pretty gross. He hasn’t washed his hair in like, two weeks, right? Grantaire is a damn saint. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way. I understand that you’re scared. That was a totally valid question, pumpkin.”

Grantaire’s voice is soft and soothing, and Enjolras trusts that he’s being honest, but it still seems a little too good to be true. “Are you sure you’re okay with all this?”

“With what? Taking care of you?” Enjolras nods. “Of course I am. You might not remember, pumpkin, but taking care of you is what I do best.”

“You seem like you’re a good boyfriend.”

“I try.” Grantaire is clearly ready to change the subject, because he’s back to grinning. “Hey, here’s a lighter note. Have you seen yourself yet? You’ve been taking testosterone for almost as long as we’ve been dating. You look way different.”

“Oh!” Enjolras hadn’t even thought of that since he first woke up. He gathered then that he’d had top surgery somewhere along the line, but since he’s been asleep had forgotten. “Do you have a mirror?”

“I got you one, yeah.” Grantaire says, and turns back to the back of toiletries. He pulls out a large hand mirror, big enough that Enjolras can see his whole face at once, and hands it to him. “Have at it.”

And Enjolras does, taking in a little breath. Grantaire was right, he does look different. His once soft features have hardened considerably, forming sharper bones, a larger brow, and faint stubble above his lip and along his jaw. He’s still pretty feminine, but he owes that to his haircut and his stature rather than his features. Because of the changes, he is undoubtedly masculine, a look that has Enjolras gaping at the mirror.

“I know right?” Grantaire agrees, watching him in amusement. “Who’s that fuckin’ male model?” Enjolras giggles.

“This is so surreal.”

“I’ll bet.”

Enjolras tears his eyes away from the mirror to look back at Grantaire. “I’m sorry again, though, really.” He presses. “This is probably very weird for you, but I need you. I really, really need you.”

“I know. It’s okay. I said I was here to help, and I am, until you can remember me.” He runs his hand again through Enjolras’ hair, and Enjolras sighs. “I promise, you’ll be back to 2017 in no time.”

Enjolras smiles, and decides that that’s probably all Grantaire will say for now. He’s happy with that, though, and does his best not to question it. There’s so much more he has to learn, and this is only the first of several very confusing weeks, but his boyfriend he can trust.

“Alright.” Grantaire says when Enjolras meets his eye. “Now, ask me anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> :::CONTENT WARNINGS bc this is an amnesia fic!! and it deals heavily with memories and memory loss. also, towards the grand finale (when he remembers everything!!) there are mentions of sui// and unhealthy relationship dynamics. they aren't tagged up there because its just mentions i promise:::
> 
> -jehancourf is a side pairing. its not a huuuuge side pairing and there are others, probably, but jehan and courfeyrac are married so,,,  
> -as always, jehan and enjolras are trans people and grantaire (and ferre and bahorel and eponine and) is black. smash that mf back button if you have an issue w that  
> -mature warning for much later because taking advantage of someone who cant remember you or someone that you cant remember but loves you very much is bad and you should feel bad  
> -the title has less to do with the plot and more to do w enjolras forgetting.. the last five years,,,, 
> 
> honestly this is a feelgood fic with very little conflict until the end, but i do have the plot planned out and it will be sappy as hell but tbh who knows im unreliable and busy welcome back to possibly unfinished chapterfic hell starring me
> 
> and finally, hit me up on twitter @jehancourf for more nonsense


End file.
